As a 7-year old boy watching the TV Grandpa McCoy with my Grandma I was embarrassed by brassiere ads hawking lift and separate breasts. In junior high I loved art class. My red-sweater clad French twisted hair teacher screamed lift and separate. I had to stay after class and write 500 times, “A closed mouth catches no flies.” My desire was only fueled. I'm not sure what I'd done.
In my late ‘60’s all boys school I was good looking, shy, and dated sensitive eager girls from all girl schools. We were desire in eros. As a young NYC ‘70’s man I was dark, handsome, shy, and constantly erect. Star Trek’s Scottie might have said, “There’s nothing I can do Captain, I've got to give her all I’ve got!” No sensible ‘70’s woman got near me. I missed the Plato’s retreat scene. Actually I missed every ‘70’s NYC scene. Near the end of my NYC era a single woman picked me up. I was seated . . . at a bar . . . watching baseball. “Who's playing?”
These days my spirit is willing and my flesh is tiring - downward. I'm targeted by big-pharma faux-looking scientific TV ads hawking concentrated testosterone (AndroGel+1.62%) on all TV-sports I watch. I prefer my beloved’s Gaia shape. A hilarious 4-hour side effect? I’m lucky with 4 squishy minutes.